The Uncontrollable Desire
by Angedesu
Summary: John Watson has a girlfriend. Sherlock Holmes finds out, much to his own inconvenience, that he feels jealousy towards their relationship. This feeling isn't new, though. John has had many girlfriends before... but now, the desire grows too strong and Sherlock chooses not to ignore it anymore.


The aroma of black coffee was penetrating the space and mixing in with the sweet scent of a woman's perfume. Somehow familiar, yet unknown and new. It was a scent to despise, a scent of uncontrolled jealousy.

Blue eyes looked over the cup, a gaze with no emotion, as always. He observed. Noticed things, details, recorded and then deleted anything he didn't need. It was a simple process stripped of anything extra, no unneeded things like feelings. And yet...

In the other room, well-visible from the spot, was a blonde man sitting next to a quite stunningly beautiful woman. Her brown hair was falling in her face as she laughed, holding onto his arm. The man's lips twirled into a smile, much more different than the one he had while around Sherlock. The eyes softened, the posture relaxed a bit, the fingers reached for woman's face, stroked her cheek. Leaned forward. Kissed.

"Don't." The word escaped Sherlock's lips, too quiet to be heard, too loud for his own consciousness. He frowned at the sudden pain he felt and was not used to, not knowing how to deal with it. It was illogical, _there was nothing to get hurt over_. Nothing...

_John..._

Something inside of him was screaming. He wanted attention, wondered why he never saw that soft look and that smile before. Some childish ideas crossed his mind, ideas of how to interrupt what was happening. _But they were all illogical_. There was no need for John to give attention to Sherlock. He should be thinking about a case.

_John._

Shutting his eyes, he turned away. In front of him was the other man's notebook, screen opened, shining, empty. No file opened. Just a screen, plain and boring. Not helping at all.

It was as if he was watching a video. His memory could become a really hateful thing sometimes. His mind, too. He heard sounds, noises, and he could make up the exact scenario of what was happening in the other room.

_John!_

Distraction. He needed a distraction. However, his mind was too focused. Little stripes of light danced in front of him, the morning was perfectly sunny. Too damn perfectly peaceful. "Case. A case..." he mumbled. The truth was, he had already figured out everything that was there to figure out. He had no big case going on and it was driving him nuts. It always did, because when that happened, there was too much of John Watson running wild in his head. Nowhere to escape.

"John!" He suddenly stood up, as if he was in a rush, and took the so-wanted attention. Two gazes buried into his face. For a moment, he just looked back. Did he do something wrong? John always tells him, "Sherlock. Timing." But there was nothing now. Just a silent gaze, clearly dissatisfied and frowning. Not good.

"Yes?" John said after a while of quietness – his girlfriend did not dare to say anything, somehow, she respected Sherlock Holmes as a man who couldn't be obstructed, nor understood, and Sherlock said nothing while his eyes were locked into John's. There was clearly something in his mind, and John demanded an answer.

"She needs to leave," said Sherlock, his voice clear and cold.

"What, why. Sherlock, she's-"

"Now!" Sherlock gestured to the doors in a rather frustrated manner. "I can't think!"

John was angry at the way Sherlock acted, but he resigned. The job his flat mate did was important, saving lives and stuff. "Okay. Okay, we'll go," he looked over at his girlfriend and they both stood up.

"No," the tall man shook his head, his dark curls getting in front of his eyes, yet he did nothing to get them out of the way. "You stay here, John."

"You don't need-"

"I _need _you!" Sherlock interrupted. He liked to interrupt the wrong assumptions sooner than they were made. "... to help with the case," he added.

And so it happened. The woman left and a great burden lifted off Sherlock's chest. _It was so much easier to breathe when she was gone_. It fascinated him, and yet he feared it, because it was a feeling and it was unnecessary to feel things that way. It was dangerous. He could not afford it.

The man who once was an army doctor now faced him, with clearly some questions. Wondering how he can help Sherlock with a case when there was really nothing to do. And what was the case anyway. Sherlock said there are few small ones, but nothing he couldn't do from home. He said they were _easy_. Simple. So why would he-

"John." Calling out that name was slowly becoming Sherlock's favorite thing to do.

"Yes, Sherlock?"

"This is not an easy demand to make and I am sorry if it sounds inappropriate, but may I ask something of you?"

Doctor nodded. "Yes, sure. What do you need?"

"Kiss me."

"Wha-" there was noticeable surprise written over the face. Of course, one does never know what to expect from Sherlock Holmes, but this was a bit more surprising than anything else could be. "Kiss- Sherlock!" John rolled his eyes. It was Sherlock, after all. He loved playing with people, experimenting, poking in the sensitive places. He turned around, so he could go to clean up the kitchen. "Don't be absurd."

But he could not leave. Sherlock's hand pulled him back, refused to give him the chance of escape. "No, I really mean it. I-I am sorry, it is surely a very strange demand, but I am not joking, John."

Their eyes locked into each other in a long stare.

"No." John mumbled.

"What?"

John's eyes slipped to Sherlock's lips and back up. "I thought you're not gay."

"I... might have been slightly mistaken," Sherlock said, slowly, thinking about his words carefully. "I wasn't counting you in, at that time. I didn't know."

Under the sentences he spoke, overwhelmed by the unsteady voice he had never hear before, John relaxed. He stood firmly, in front of his flat mate, in front of a genius man who was never interested in much more than his work. A man he always thought is incapable of love.

"Why now." Simple question.

"Will you do it? John, will you do this for me?" Sherlock asked instead of answering. He never did answer properly when John was the one giving questions. Well, most of the time, anyway. But this time, John needed to understand.

"Did you realize that while drinking your coffee or what?" he pulled his eyebrow up. He won't let Sherlock ignore the questions now.

"No, I've..." It was somehow amusing to watch Sherlock talk about something with difficulty. He was the man who always said anything that was on his mind, having bad comments and being completely off with the timing. Always spoke his mind. This was so... strangely captivating, to John, at least. "I've known for a long time by now."

"Then why...?"

"I can't bear it anymore," he said, flustered.

John sighed. "And what do you expect me to do?"

Sherlock said nothing, just looked at him. A quiet plea written in the blue eyes, demanding the action. It was that kind of puppy-eyes look only Sherlock was capable of. And it was exactly the expression capable of getting John do anything he wanted him to do. Melting something inside of him, chasing the strong and immovable soldier side of him away and letting something much more gentle to take the control.

"Alright..." he said, his words almost a whisper. "Alright, I'll do it."

Stepping forward, he felt a hint of nervousness. Back of his neck tickled with a weird sensation which ran down his spine. Licking his own lips, he realized how fast his heart beat is. He had never experienced these feelings for a simple kiss with any woman and he knew he cannot lie to himself forever. For a tiny bit, he hoped he could. But Sherlock ruined it, right now, and very easily.

John wasn't ready, but couldn't move away.

"Now," Sherlock said, quietly. It was sensual. His voice, deep and somehow _gentle_. Careful.

"Okay," the world barely slipped past John's lips. It wasn't necessary. It was quiet, and slurred, and almost more of an image of a word than the word itself. But upon that one sound, he stood on his toes to reach the other man's face. So he could press his lips on the other's.

And so, John Watson kissed Sherlock Holmes.

And there was no way any of them could go back to what they were before.

The kiss was a point of no return, and it was more than gladly followed with another one.


End file.
